Proper Tea
by siltrana
Summary: Ducky gets some advice from an unexpcted sorce. This is set just befor Witch Hunt.


**Proper Tea**

**Thank you to my beta as always you rock. I do not own anything about NCIS.**

Watching Ducky stomp around autopsy, Tim McGee sighed softly. He had never seen the M.E. so angry, though, he _did_ have some justification. The man was feeling betrayed by one of his oldest friends. They had all felt some of that betrayal when Gibbs had gone to Mexico, but there was more to this. Ducky had been lied to and this was causing him to be among the slowest of them to start healing. A gap was starting to widen between him and Gibbs. Ducky worried that gap would become too vast to breach. He had helped Tony begin the process of healing and it would seem that he would now have to do the same for the Scotsman before him.

"Hey, Ducky," Tim said, startling the older man.

"Ah, hello, Timothy, what brings you down to my icy, cold, domicile?" the doctor asked, recovering easily with an easy smile.

"Well, some tea would be nice."

"What, Agent Gibbs is not breathing down your neck?"

"Boss, Tony, and Ziva are out talking to a witness, and I got a bit of time before they get back. I came down here looking for some company," Tim said.

"Got your work all done, then?" Ducky had to ask, not wanting the young man get into trouble with his taciturn superior.

"It was all stuff I could do in a heartbeat, so I have a bit of leeway," Tim smiled as he watched the older man make short work of the art tea in a pinch. Sitting in a comfortable silence, the young agent watched the coroner's agitation slip away. Now was the time to broach the subject. But how? He grinned as the how came so suddenly, that Ducky gave him the woolly eye.

"What has gotten you to grin like a Cheshire cat?"

"As my Nana would say, this is not yet a proper tea."

"Not yet a proper tea?" came the affronted reply.

"Nope, not yet. In order for this to be a proper tea, a story must be told," Tim smiled as he watched Ducky process this information. "Since you have supplied an excellent tea, I can supply the story. How does that sound?"

When his companion nodded his agreement, the young man continued, "Our tale begins with a chance meeting between a girl and boy. As she was walking home on a trail overlooking a bluff, she heard the sounds of crying," Tim told his story, "Hurrying up to investigate, she saw a young boy sitting on the rock that marked the entrance in to the coolie. Moved by his tears, she sat down beside him and began to comfort him. Being the boy, he quickly dried his tears on his sleeve. What little they knew of the future, could not foretell them of the strength and power of their friendship. Now, the girl had skin so pale it made the moon seem warm. Her long hair so black, it seemed borrowed from a raven's wing. Her frame was that of a dancer, slender and graceful. She seemed to be made by a master craftsman, so different from the boy who sat before her. He matched her age of eleven, but that's where the resemblance ended.

"This boy had the knees, elbows, and awkward angles of a boy of the verge of a growth spurt. His green eyes far too large for his round face. His unruly hair, a dark blond. He had none of her grace, but she thought that he was a quite gentle soul and couldn't be dissuaded from that notion. Looking at the bruise on his pale face, she decided to befriend him. Taking him by the hand, she led him into the wooded bluff below, that lead to her house. She claimed that her uncle could do wonders for bruises. The boy had also learned her name was Natasha. She had been born just outside of Moscow, but was sent to live with her uncle here, in America. It wasn't until much later, did he learn that her parents had died in a car crash."

"Does the boy have a name?" Ducky asked, already suspecting the answer. He didn't like the description of the boy, though. If his suspicions proved correct, it did not bode well for the young man's self-image.

"Yes, he does, but you shouldn't interrupt," Tim replied, unwilling to give up the game so quickly.

Nodding his head and smiling by way of apology, Ducky leaned back and gestured for the young man to continue. It was an odd feeling being the listener rather than the storyteller, but the agent was doing good job of it so far.

"Where was I? Ah, yes, racing through the bluffs. The two children had taken off like a pair of wood sprites, giggling and racing through the wind-tossed leaves. Very few were left on the trees and those that were rattled and shook trying to break free to join their brethren, floated to the ground below.

"Through the bluff, they ran, leaves crunching beneath their feet until the woods suddenly opened up, reveling a large house. A house with whitewash shutters and blue shingles with black trim. There were many gables in this house and it even had two chimneys rising from it's roof. Smoke drifted lazily out of one of them. It could have been an imposing structure, but knowing that his new friend lived, there somehow made it warm and inviting. As promised, her Uncle Nick made his hurts all better.

"As the years passed and they grew, their feeling deepened and matured with them. She encouraged his poetry and he went to every one of her dance recitals. Even Uncle Nick found a place in their world. The boy's father had died when he was young, forcing his mother to raise him and his sister alone. While not replacing the father, the boy barely remembered, he became the man in the boys' life. Teaching him how to treat a lady, woodcraft, and a good many other things, all the while keeping him from feeling the gifts he had were anything less then extraordinary. 'God gave you a fine mind. Do not let nitwits try to tell you otherwise,' he would say. The boy calls him uncle still, even after these years passed. The years passed swiftly and the children grew into teenagers. Or as Uncle Nick put it, they went from being little hellions to large hellions."

Ducky chuckled as he refilled their mugs. He could see the two getting into all sorts of mischief. Mischief that was reflected in the young agent's eyes as he took a sip of tea.

"They eventually fell in love. I suppose it was inevitable, given how close the two were, growing up together. Those who raised them had doubts about them having a close relationship so young, but their love refused to be denied. Even when the boy left two years early to go to college.

"Natasha fallowed him to the city, when she graduated high school. She had even managed to land a job as a dancer at a small ballet company, saying that she had plenty of time to go to college, but she wouldn't have forever to be a dancer. When he graduated college two years later, they married. Yes, Ducky, they got married," Tim said, answering the man's surprised look. "It was a wonderful four years. She made principle dancer after only one season and he had earned his Masters. As always, she encouraged his dreams, and gently pushed him towards his one of going into law enforcement. After a long and arduous vetting process, the letter came. The man who was the boy of our tale looked at the envelope with much dread. Unable to open it, his giggling wife took it from him and opened it. She began to squeal as she realized that it was an acceptance letter. The man was going to FLETC, and after that, he would become a federal agent."

Tim stopped and took a deep breath, even after these years, it was still painful to think about, let alone talk about, but Ducky needed to hear this in order understand why Gibbs didn't tell him about his family. He pushed forward before he lost his nerve.

"The performance was Swan Lake. She was beautiful as Odette," he whispered as a tear trickled down his face, "That was her last performance. Odette in Swan Lake. An arsonist set the place ablaze after the show finished for the night. I had to leave right after last curtain. Normally, I stayed, but with FLETC coming up, I had some loose ends to deal with. The theatre was old and burned quickly, trapping the dancers inside. Twenty-three succumbed to smoke inhalation immediately. A hand-full like Natasha, made it out, but died later. There were very few who survived the blaze. She had burns to ninety percent of her body. Shock, smoke, and heat from the fire slowly shut down her internal organs and there was nothing I could do, but watch her die." Tim gave up all pretence of who the story was about and cried openly, "The last thing she did before she died, was make me promise that I would not give up my dream of becoming a federal agent. The person who set the fire was never caught, and the only thing I could do, Ducky, was fulfill my wife's dying wish."

"I am so sorry, Timothy," Ducky said gently as he produced a hanky to dry the distressed young agents' tears.

"Thank you," he whispered drying his now pale face, "You're wondering why I told you this story... I told you this, because after four years, it still hurts like hell, and I suspect after ten years it will still hurt like hell."

Smiling at his companions' dawning of understanding, Tim continued, "Gibbs still hurts from his loss. Losing my wife was bad enough, but to lose his little girl as well...I wonder how he never turned a gun on himself, honestly. I almost turned one on myself, but family, friends, and a promise got me through it. Boss didn't mean to cause you any pain, Ducky, he was just trying to not relive his own."

Ducky was silent a moment. "Thank you for sharing your story with me, Timothy. It took a lot of courage to do so, and it gave an old man a lot to think about. Before I make an ill-timed comment, does anybody else know?" he asked.

"I assume Gibbs does; it's in my file. Abby knows that I am a widower. Bless her heart, she has never pried and has always kept me company on the anniversary."

"She is a rare one," he agreed.

"Well, I have to get going, Ducky," Tim stood, "Thank you for the tea and I hope that we can do this again."

"I look forward to our next proper tea, now off with you before you find yourself in hot water with Gibbs," Ducky said as he shooed the agent out the door.

Turning back to the tea set that now needed to be washed, the coroner found himself revising Gibbs's trip to Mexico. He had been so focused on his own hurt, that he had forgotten about the other man's. Yes, it hurt that Jethro had not trusted him with this information, but he was hurting as well, and his friend had never meant to hurt him as Timothy reminded him. Smiling at the wisdom that one of the youngest field agents in the history of the agency brought to him, Ducky had to remind himself that wisdom sometimes had nothing to do with age and that it was time to put his foolish pride aside and make amends.

Smiling, he put the now washed tea set away he went about the organizing that had been interrupted by Timothy's arrival, ruefully wishing that Jimmy was not in class so he could pass the work on. Sometimes things do not have anything to do with age, but rather, they came with the different experiences they all brought to the team. Timothy, it seemed, did not have as happy and carefree childhood as everyone though he had, but the young man had given him something to think about.

Grabbing his fedora Ducky went to the elevators. When the doors opened up for him, he walked in and instead of hitting the button for the parking garaged he hit the button for the squad room. It was time to talk an old friend.


End file.
